Tuesday, 8 October 2013

It's the aftermath of my birthday. And I feel bloated. Clearly I overdid it on the booze front (fizz, sauvingnon blanc, crianza, lychee martini's...), the pizza front (have vague recollections of feeling like I might vomit but continuing to stuff great slabs of cheesy heaven into my gob regardless) and the cake front (loads of orange flavoured buttercream icing which seemed like such a good idea at the time).

I do feel spoiled though. It was like my own personal Christmas as i got spoiled beyond belief with a lovely new glam handbag, a sexy pencil skirt, a leopard print bikini, a beautiful necklace, some wicked tights, leather leggings...etc. I should point out however that all these super sexy cool gifts were from my mum and sisters (love you guys), whereas the males in my life were a touch more practical in their gift giving inspiration: a 'fit bit' watch (previously mentioned), a top of the range bicycle light(!), a notebook, a pen, a Murakami tome, a bicycle rack and bag (yep, definitely a distinct theme emerging here)....

one 'glam' gift...

...followed by one a touch less so (my new top-of-the-range bicycle light)

A 'Dumpie Special'

Do I care? Heck no. Mainly because I am the proud owner of a newly acquired powder pink folding Brompton bicycle, which I have discovered, is great fun to whizz up and down the streets on (even moreso after a few glasses of vino). Though it is to my great embarrassment that I have yet to memorise the intricacies involved in folding and unfolding the bloody thing without the aid of either an eye-rolling husband or a trio of friendly male strangers outside a pizza restaurant channeling youtube....

But I digress. It was a wickedly fun birthday and as my head hit the pillow on the wrong side of 2am it dawned on me that the husband had neither made good on his promise to give me a birthday massage (it's the only time of year that he doesn't pull the old hand scratching, disinterested, rub-in-the-same-place 'massage' that feels so horrible that I make him stop and tell him not to bother) nor did I get my special wish of a nice (solo!) bubble bath, glass of wine and uninterrupted Grazia reading.

Oh well, only 364 days to wait....

Opening the last card...from my 'boys'...wondering what it's going to say inside....

....apparently nothing! They only bloody forgot to sign the bloody thing :)

Monday, 7 October 2013

Today is my birthday (never mind which one...I'm bloody 'old' okay?). Anyway, because of this momentous occasion, I had the great fortune to be sitting in Gordon's Wine Bar last night with my mum and sisters sipping fine wine and nibbling cheeses, and not - like the poor husband - walking into our high-ceilinged bathroom last night during 'bath time' to find the boys chucking wads of wet toilet paper onto the ceiling.

Now, I am sitting in a pile of 'Palmier' crumbs on my bed (courtesy of an early morning mission by the husband to procure my favourite treat from Paul's Patisserie) trying to keep the baby from polishing off the last bite (he's already eaten the bulk of this morning's pastries and screamed bloody murder when his big brother's tried to wrestle a bite off of him).

The husband gave me a very funny/scary card this morning with an elderly naked couple riding tandem on a bike. It made me laugh, but then I looked over to gauge his reaction and saw his eyes take on a wistful expression and realised that it probably is his wet dream. God help me. Along with the card I also got this cool black bracelet that tracks your day's activity, informs you on the quality of your sleep (I could tell you for nothing it's permanently shite), and lets you know how active you are on any given day (is this the husband's way of confirming his deep suspicion that all I do each day while he's at work is sit and eat bon-bons with the fat baby whilst directing minions of elves in their laundry and scrubbing toilets chores??).

At any rate, I can't complain. I'm a lucky girl with a day of babbling ahead of me (currently all the baby knows how to say is 'Happy Birthday to youuuuuuu...' so today of all days this is going to come in extremely handy), and later I intend to stuff myself so full of boozes and pizza (yep, it's still my favourite food) that I babble incoherently as I chuck myself in bed.

Another year I'll do the 'elegant-dress-up-in-Jimmy-Choo's-and-dine-at-a-fine-restaurant' thing.

This year I'm gonna keep it strictly Honey Boo-Boo....but of the brown trash variety.

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ABOUT ME...

I am a well-intentioned but frequently disillusioned wife and mother, cathartically blogging about the daily frustrations of raising three(!) boys (Egg 12, Dumpie 10, and Squitty 'the baby' 5...) whilst trying to forge a career in music.
As a frustrated artist, domestic slave, and hardcore fashionista , life is a constant struggle of trying not to lose the plot whilst keeping a sense of self.
Throw in a husband who also refuses to "grow up", wonderfully dysfunctional family and friends, and you get a shambolic household that shouldn't work - but somehow does.
These domestic adventures and random observations of the world at large (fueled in part by excessive daily intake of chocolate and caffeine) are contained herein. Welcome to my world...